What's In A Name
by Late2SGA
Summary: Another mission, another mess, and Rodney was right - yet again. Takes place S2, after Conversion. ShepWhump. Team fic.


~ What's In A Name ~

An Author's Note follows the story.

Word Count: 4676

Takes place after 'Conversion'.

Characters: Rodney, Sheppard, Teyla, Ronon. Appearance by Beckett. Sort of Lorne.

Rating: K+/T- ... for some bloodiness (more ShepWhump than is usual for me).

Warning: Vague references to Trinity and Conversion.

Disclaimer: 'Stargate Atlantis' and its characters are not mine. I would not have left them under the aegis of those whose interest lay elsewhere.

SGA ~ SGA ~ SGA

Rodney McKay was running for his life, fuming in terror as projectiles zipped past him. He was a physicist, specifically an astrophysicist, pretty much _the_ foremost expert in celestial mechanics and wormhole theory, and here he was, attempting to break an Olympic record for the two-mile obstacle-course dash.

"Keep goin'!" Sheppard shouted. Right. As if Rodney had plans to stop. "Faster!" Rodney felt a hand grip his arm as the colonel urged him on. Sheppard was managing to keep up, half the time running backwards to fire his P90.

Up ahead Teyla dodged behind a stone outcropping and disappeared from the trail. If it could be called a trail. More like a goat track, a narrow path amid narrow trees ~ trees that had dropped most of their foliage to the ground. To Rodney the situation felt like trying to find protection in a forest of telephone poles interrupted by the occasional rock formation.

Ronon turned around at the outcropping and fired over Rodney's head. The response to the red blasts was a volley of arrows. A pebble pinged on the massive stone slab, splintering painful shards just as Rodney swung around the edge and plopped down next to Teyla. The literary connection to 'slings and arrows' was one more item to heap onto Rodney's disgruntled mood.

Sheppard skidded to a halt and dove for cover next to Rodney. Another wave of arrows came singing downward to land just beyond Ronon. The big man duck-walked to maintain a crouch as he sought cover behind the granite bulwark. He rose, fired a few blasts and slid back down to his haunches.

"Everybody okay?" Sheppard received a duo of nods. Rodney was still fuming and stewing and he certainly was _not_ 'okay' and he would have said so, if he could catch his breath. The colonel leaned sidewise to fire around the rock wall, then pulled back behind shelter. More pings and the edge shattered; Sheppard wiped blood from his cheek. More arrows rained downward, nearer the team than before. Rodney could almost calculate the archers' distance by the arrows' angle of descent.

'Slings and arrows.' Rodney sneered to himself. The woods were being pelted by lethal-velocity pebbles and lanced by barbed arrows. 'Outrageous fortune.' Yes. Rodney was outraged. He shouldn't even be in these woods. He didn't need to be on this mission. 'Mission'? Hah. A Waste Of Time. And he'd said so before, during and after they arrived on this miserable planet.

Ronon and Sheppard rose up simultaneously, taking only moments to fire at their pursuers over the protective rim before dropping back behind cover.

"Two more to go," Sheppard announced, referring, Rodney knew, to the few-and-far-between boulders, behind which they might find marginal cover. "Next one's a lot bigger," Sheppard reminded them all, "and a lot farther." He advised Teyla, "Run like the wind," and slipped a new clip into his P90. "Ready?"

Teyla nodded and left at a sprint once the colonel and Ronon provided coverfire. She was well outside range when the next few arrows descended, one landing mere inches from Rodney's foot. Rodney pressed his back tighter against the rock wall, raised his knees and drew his heels in as far as possible. He considered covering his head with his arms. Fat lot of good that would do; the natives were improving their aim with each volley, not only by adjusting the trajectory, but by decreasing the distance between themselves and their target.

"You ready?" Sheppard was looking at Rodney.

Anger released Rodney from his paralysis. "Ready?! Do you mean ready to be battered by ballistic stones or pierced like a pin cushion?! Exactly how is anyone 'ready' for that!? I've said all along that Donahue's idea was stupid and yet, here we are!"

Even Rodney could hear the edge beneath Sheppard's patient reply. "The name is Donovan and-"

"Donovan, Donahue. You know who I'm talking about so what does it matter. The point is-"

"McKay! I don't have time for this right now! Just get to the Gate! We'll cover you. Now, are-you-ready?" Sheppard nodded at Ronon and the next thing Rodney knew, red blasts and P90 fire were drowning out his thoughts.

Rodney wanted to plug his ears, but Ronon grabbed him by the arm and ushered him down the goat track. The big guy was still firing back over his shoulder. Rodney kept his head low and ran in an awkward stoop. Sheppard's weaponsfire sounded behind him, tree bark exploded around him, arrows were sailing past him and he just kept running.

"Pick up some speed!" Sheppard ordered. Rodney felt Ronon's grip loosen as the big man passed him, then turned to fire back down the trail. Sheppard grabbed Rodney's arm and started pushing while evidently still managing to fire his P90.

The huge rock formation that had seemed inconvenient and impassable earlier when they'd hiked around it from the opposite direction, now seemed too small to offer any real protection.

Teyla stepped out from behind the massive outcropping to provide coverfire. Rodney angled past her and slid behind the rock wall, side-stepping to keep his back against the cold stone that poked and prodded him. In the upright position it was hard to fill his lungs as he tried to suck in air. Teyla sidled next to him, still firing around the edge. Red blasts joined her P90-fire until Sheppard and Ronon backed into a position of safety.

"Man, those guys can run," Sheppard commented breathlessly. He leaned around the edge and fired off a number of rounds. "We gotta be quick. Everybody ready for the next jaunt?"

Rodney had had it! " 'Jaunt'?! As in, 'a short, pleasant trip to enjoy a nice view'? I don't recall being peppered by pebbles and assailed by arrows as part of a jaunt!"

"Okay," Sheppard conceded. "You ready to run like hell?"

It was hard to argue when in agreement, so Rodney resurrected his original grievance. "We shouldn't be here! If you'd listened to me, we wouldn't be in this absurd situation! Donegal's information couldn't possibly-"

Sheppard's gunfire cut Rodney off in mid-sentence. The colonel pulled back from the edge and stated, "Even Weir agreed with _Donovan's_ interpretation. She okayed the mission."

"This is not a mission," Rodney snapped, "it's a circus! You don't need a scientist, you need a sideshow swami!"

"Rodney!" Sheppard barked. "This is not the time! Now, get ready to move!" He finished by nodding at Teyla. "Keep him moving," he ordered, then he nodded at Ronon.

Even though he expected it, Rodney was shaken by the cacophony of the quickfire bursts from Sheppard's P90 and booming discharge from Ronon's blaster. With Teyla's hand at his back he was flying down the trail, concentrating on his steps to make certain he didn't trip and take a header into the ground. When the next outcrop of rock loomed before them Rodney stuck out one hand to grab hold and swing around behind the formation.

There hadn't been time to catch his breath after the previous running stint and then Teyla had literally pushed him to his limit during this last leg. Rodney leaned over, hands braced on his knees, noisily sucking in air. Teyla calmly took up position to watch the trail. The blood pounding in Rodney's ears overlapped with the sound of Ronon's thundering approach. The big man appeared to be only slightly winded when he came to a stop.

Rodney's lungs were still heaving. He shifted his position to gaze expectantly back the way they'd come. "I don't see him." He panted at Ronon, "He should be right behind you."

Ronon countered, "He knows what he's doing. He'll be here."

"I don't hear him, either." Rodney pointed out the silence.

Distant gunfire echoed. "That is not his P90," Teyla remarked carefully. She tapped her earbud. "John, we are here waiting."

"Keep goin'!" was the reply.

Rodney looked at his teammates. "Something's wrong," he wheezed. He shook his head and repeated, "Something's wrong. Sheppard doesn't lie. Prevaricate, obfuscate ~ yes. Lie ~ no."

With a steady eye on Rodney Teyla tapped her earbud and deliberately asked, "John, are you all right?"

A brief pause then Sheppard's answer: "Get to the Gate!"

Oh, God. Rodney hated being right all the time.

"I'll go," Ronon stated.

The words were out of his mouth before Rodney had time to consider a plan: "I'm coming with you."

Ronon stared him down. "No. You'll slow me down."

Rodney straightened his back and prepared for an argument. "We need a Jumper and a medical unit. Fast. If I go with Teyla, I'll slow _her_ down. I'm coming with you," he finished mulishly and promptly ran out of breath.

"I will bring help," Teyla announced. She took off running at a speed Rodney could never match, certainly not over distance.

"Beckett!" Rodney shouted after her. "And lots of soldiers!" When he turned back around, Ronon was already heading down the path, weaving in and out of trees with an efficient lope. One moment to gulp in air, then Rodney followed his teammate, mentally calculating oxygen-deprivation recovery times.

Sheppard was so still Rodney wouldn't have noticed him; it was Ronon's guarded stance, his back toward Rodney, that drew attention. Rodney slowed from a jog to a rapid walk. His breath, coming in ragged gasps, suddenly caught in his throat. Just off the path sat the purpose of Ronon's careful watch. The colonel was braced against a tree, his legs straightened before him, his sidearm held loosely in his hand, which lay in his lap. His P90, still attached to his vest, was tangled in the undergrowth, aimed at the ground at an awkward angle. And like Ronon, Sheppard maintained a trained eye on the surroundings.

As Rodney approached, the colonel raised his gaze and gave a brief smile. Rodney took in a steadying breath to tamp down fear; Sheppard looked like a broken marionette.

Rodney went to his knees to unhook the P90 and pull away the grasses. His hands stilled. Blood darkened the grey jacket.

"What can you do?" The simple, straight-forward question was voiced quietly in Ronon's straight-forward growl. The big man's back was still toward Rodney; he hadn't moved from his position of keenly scanning the wooded terrain.

"What can I _do_?" Rodney wanted to rage, but he remembered they were supposed to be quiet. What _could_ he do? What could anybody do about a barbed arrow sticking through Sheppard's side? The man had been impaled. No way to pull the arrow forward or back without doing extensive damage. "I am not a medical doctor," he hissed. He had purposely avoided anything to do with voodoo practitioners. Uncertainty. Guesswork. The chemistry of every single body was unique, meaning treatment and medications were based on an average. There was no such thing as an 'average' person. An average was a statistical value calculated over a population and each person was a variation.

This shouldn't have happened, Rodney fumed. "We shouldn't have come here," he muttered. The black t-shirt didn't show the blood, but it felt stiff and tacky. Even the vest was affected and was difficult to unzip. "Nobody listened to me. We shouldn't be on this stupid planet and then this wouldn't have happened!"

Even while stewing Rodney took note of Sheppard's careful breaths. He looked up from the wound to find the colonel staring at him with a measuring eye.

"Shoulda...kept goin'."

That made Rodney madder. "Like you would have kept going," he snarked. "I seem to recall something. Wait, let me think. Oh, right, I remember: We don't leave our people behind."

Sheppard's eyes closed and his breathing changed. "Bait."

"Bait?" Rodney repeated.

Ronon didn't move, but he responded, "They didn't kill him. They wanted us to come back for him."

Rodney looked at his shaking hands. This was a trap. The bad guys were expecting a rescue. They were coming back.

"They're here," Ronon announced. "McKay. By me."

Sheppard's hazel eyes stared steadily into Rodney's panicked blues, then shifted to the P90 at his hip. "Make it...count."

Without thinking Rodney reached down and picked up Sheppard's P90. He stood and walked slowly toward Ronon. Until now the colonel's orders had been to cause enough commotion and confusion to allow the team to reach the Gate. The purpose was not to kill the locals. Rodney always left the he-man stuff to Sheppard and Ronon. And Teyla. Was he now expected to do more than fire a weapon blindly in a general direction? Rodney stiffened his spine. He could do this.

Ronon made an adjustment on his blaster and then motioned Rodney where to stand. "Anything that moves. Get ready."

And then it started. Ronon fired his blaster and a tree exploded, sending toothpicks and bark in all directions. Rodney heard frightened, pained shouting and saw a shadowy movement, so he aimed and squinted and squeezed the trigger and just held on while the P90 jerked in his grasp and bucked against his shoulder. Ronon's booming blasts kept coming, blam, blam, blam. And then suddenly it was over.

With his eyes fully opened Rodney saw dust and smoke and he smelled burning wood. "We did it! They're gone!" They could actually survive this Godforsaken planet!

"McKay!" Ronon shouted.

Rodney felt the impact. He heard gunfire as he was knocked to the ground. He couldn't breathe. A weight was on his chest.

"Rodney?" The voice was hoarse, strained.

Rodney opened his eyes. A moment of disorientation passed and he realized Ronon lay across him. Rodney pushed and shoved and the big man rolled to his back. Rodney sat up.

"Howz...he?" Sheppard puffed quietly.

Ronon hadn't moved. There was a bloody gash on the big man's brow. Rodney held his breath ~ Goliath had been felled by a rock and sling ~ until he felt the pulse beating strongly against his fingertips. He searched the tall grass and located a small boulder. Ronon had knocked Rodney to the ground and had hit his own head in the process. "He's okay. I mean, he's out, but okay." Which meant Rodney was alone. No help. He looked to Sheppard, whose sidearm slipped from his lax grip.

"Made it ...count." The colonel aimed his chin to where a body could be seen amid the groundcover.

It was all Rodney could do to stand on wobbly legs and make his way over to his teammate. He'd been 'that close'. What if Ronon hadn't pushed him out of the way? Or what if Sheppard hadn't managed to squeeze the trigger?

Rodney fell to his knees to examine the arrow. There was so much blood. Sheppard was so pale. How could the wound even be packed without causing damage? The barbs formed in all directions, like the thorny stem of a confused rose.

"I need your knife." Rodney inserted his hand behind Sheppard, searching for the knife's grip, but he halted when the colonel uttered a sound. So small a sound, yet it stopped Rodney in his tracks ~ as a rule, Sheppard didn't whimper.

"Side...cargo...pocket."

Rodney patted down Sheppard's trousers but the jackknife he knew his teammate carried wasn't accessible without straining and pulling the fabric. Rodney couldn't face another whimper.

With a snap of his fingers Rodney rushed over to yank and tug, finally extricating Ronon's sword from where it lay beneath its owner. "Nothing like a tank when I need a scooter," he panted, examining the blade. It was heavier than expected. "Ow." And sharper. He nicked several fingers before he managed to bob the arrow at both ends and remove all the exposed barbs.

"Now, we apply some powder and bandages and you'll be good as new," Rodney announced. He ripped Sheppard's shirt wide and lifted the vest out of the way ~ and felt he was going to be sick. "I mean," he rushed, "you're going to be fine. It's not too bad. Just a small, gaping hole." But it would have helped if Sheppard had more meat in the love-handle region.

Rodney felt panic creeping at the edges. "Everything will be okay." As long as help arrived soon. He wiped his hands and fished for a field dressing in his tac vest. He checked the time as he packed the bandage around the protruding shaft. Had Teyla made it to the Gate? Rodney picked carefully at Sheppard's vest to retrieve another bandage. Finished, he sat back on his haunches. "There. The bad guys are gone, so now we just wait."

Sheppard took hold of his Beretta. "They'll be...back."

What?! "My name is not Rambo! I shouldn't even be here!" But if he weren't here, Sheppard would be alone. Or would Ronon still be conscious if he hadn't tried to save Rodney? Would the team have run faster without him? Would the three of them have made it to the Gate without Rodney slowing them down? "I shouldn't be here," he murmured distractedly.

"We're...a team."

Was that enough? Matters between Rodney and Sheppard had been improving since Doranda. It just needed time. Then they'd nearly lost the colonel to some mutation process and now this. Were they out of time? He had to ask. "Do you trust me?"

Sheppard blinked slowly. "Yes, Rod...ney, I...trust you."

"Then trust me when I tell you that O'Donnell has it wrong. I looked at this planet's statistics. It can't possibly-" The colonel's eyes were closed. Was he breathing? "Sheppard?" Rodney dared not breathe. He reached out to touch a cold, pale hand.

"You think...Weir...got it...wrong...too?"

Rodney jerked in relief. After the fearful silence Sheppard's quiet words had been startling. Rodney took off his jacket and tucked it around his friend. The bandages he'd applied were soaked and doing nothing to slow the blood loss; Sheppard's life was seeping into the grass. "I think Elizabeth looked at O'Donnell's conclusions without-"

"Peri...meter." Even tired and slipping away he was focused.

Perimeter? Rodney had almost forgotten the bad guys were going to return. He checked his watch. It was up to him. Rambo McKay. He could do this. He marched over to Ronon and drew the blaster from its holster. The weapon was heavier than expected. Rodney raised his arm to get a feel of the grip- Red light boomed, rock shards pinged and Rodney fell over, discharging another blast, which destroyed branches overhead and left splinters raining down. Rodney crouched and covered his head.

"Please...don't...do that...again."

"Um, it has a bit of a kick," Rodney admitted. He sat down by Sheppard's tree with all weapons close at hand and hoped rescue would arrive before he actually had to aim at something. "They'll be here." He was certain Sheppard believed that.

Sheppard tried to speak, but Rodney interrupted. "No, don't talk. Save your breath." Save your strength. Save your life. The truth was Rodney didn't want to hear any words, if they were going to be Last Words. So Rodney talked, to explain why, being the expert, he should have been heeded when it came to this stupid idea and this stupid mission on this stupid planet.

Sheppard made a small rasping sound. Rodney turned his eye from the woods to study the colonel, who kept sliding in and out of consciousness. "Sheppard?" Rodney grabbed the man's hand. "You'll be fine, just fine." Sheppard's eyes fluttered. "It's just a scratch. Well, not a scratch, more like a deep groove, really, but easy to fix." Sheppard's hand was so cold.

Rodney checked his watch. How long would it take to 'run like the wind' to the Gate? And then to arrange for rescue and medical personnel, and then to come back in a Jumper? Help needed to hurry. Rodney saw a brief movement ~ bad guys in the trees. Help was late. Rodney had to make up his mind ~ more damage with the blaster or better control with the P90?

"Doctor McKay!"

Rodney actually heard the voice in both his ears, although the sound was somewhat tinny in the left ear. "Teyla?" He put his hand to his earbud and swiveled to see Teyla racing toward him, followed by Lorne and several Marines. In one long exhale Rodney felt some inner core relax. He shouted, "Get down!" as a wave of arrows passed over him. Lorne didn't even stop. With hand gestures he directed his teams to spread out and soon the woods were filled with spurts of P90 gunfire.

Teyla patted Rodney's shoulder before kneeling at Sheppard's side. "How is he?"

"Where's Carson? Where's the Jumper? Where's help?!" Rodney was on his feet. "We need to get him out of here!"

A shadow passed overhead. Teyla looked up. "Help is here."

The Jumper circled and headed in the direction of the Gate and then Rodney heard an explosion.

"There is no place to land near here," Teyla explained. "Lieutenant Isaacs dropped us off in a clearing and he has been scouting the terrain. And now he has created a landing site."

More soldiers came jogging through the trees, followed by Carson Beckett and two medical staff members. As he neared, the doctor asked, "How's m' patient?"

"Voodoo is supposed to be your area of expertise!" Rodney retorted. "Sorry, sorry." Rodney shifted from foot to foot while Beckett examined Sheppard. "Carson? There's a lot of blood."

"Aye." In a quiet voice the Scot gave orders to his assistants, who were poking and prodding and inserting needles and attaching drip bags and doing things Rodney purposely never learned. "What's wrong with Ronon?" the doctor wanted to know.

"He, um, fell and hit his head," Rodney answered.

Sheppard stirred when he was being transferred to the Jumper. At the sound of gunfire he tightened his hold on his sidearm and would not let it be pried from his hand.

"Sheppard? It's okay. You can let go," Rodney encouraged.

"John, we are all here," Teyla assured him. "We are fine."

And Sheppard let go, with what seemed like an endless sigh, and Carson shouted, "He's crashing!" and Rodney held his breath and thought 'hurry hurry hurry'.

There was a buzz in Rodney's ears and shouting, Sheppard was surrounded, "One, two, three", gunfire cracked in the distance until the rear hatch closed, "Clear!" and Rodney was running after the gurney down Lantean hallways, hurry hurry hurry.

Rodney was standing in the infirmary, people were racing past him, rapid-fire medical jargon, one, two, three, equipment being rushed into the room, Clear!, hurry hurry hurry.

Rodney felt light-headed. He was watching as Sheppard was ushered away amid beeping machinery and urgent voices and he still had Sheppard's Beretta in his hand.

"Are you okay?" Teyla asked, and she took Sheppard's gun.

Rodney heard the question. No, he wasn't okay.

Ronon had revived in the Jumper and was making a complete nuisance of himself, managing to avoid medical treatment while maneuvering to keep an eye on the colonel, as he had when they both had been wheeled from the Jumper Bay to the infirmary.

Rodney stopped a nurse as she hurried by. "I know he needs surgery, but he'll be okay, right?" He couldn't keep the note of pleading from his voice. The nurse nodded reassuringly. Rodney looked at her closely. "I don't know you; you're new. Lieutenant Lopez is off-world but you can find Sergeant Morse in the kitchens. And Walker oversees Laundry. Bettinger is in Microbiology. They're all Sheppard's blood type."

The nurse smiled in understanding. "They're already here, giving blood." She said kindly, "You should take care of yourself." She gestured with her hand, in an up-down motion.

In a daze Rodney looked down his shirtfront to his trousers. Blood had darkened fabric, soaking to his skin. He raised his hands to examine the palms, then the backs. Tacky stains ran almost to his elbows. He felt Teyla slide her arm at his waist. As she guided him out of the infirmary she quietly instructed, "You must go to your quarters and clean up. John will be in surgery a while. Doctor Beckett is confident he will be fine." She patted Rodney's arm. "I will be here when you return."

Rodney considered he must be really tired to feel comfortable leaving matters in the hands of Doctor Voodoo and The Wind.

SGA ~ SGA ~ SGA

The long, drawn-out note of whetstone honing a fine edge made Rodney cringe internally, but he was determined to say nothing. He tapped at his laptop's keyboard with forceful strokes to focus his attention and to drown out the noise. Teyla sat at the opposite bedside and he could hear her occasional light humming. He found it pleasant albeit distracting, but Ronon's slow, methodical rhythm of steel-on-stone was getting on Rodney's nerves.

Rodney glanced furtively at the big man, who had his bootheels resting on the bottom of Sheppard's bed. Conan was supposed to be under observation himself, but the only concession he made to the minor concussion was the bandage on his brow.

No one had suggested Ronon take his weapon elsewhere. Rodney was certain a few barbs could not have damaged the blade. And who needed a sword in the infirmary anyway? Rodney studied his bandaged fingers. He looked down at his screen and realized touch-typing was not possible if one could not feel one's fingertips. He scrolled back to correct errors and re-type.

Sheppard woke with a shuddering inhale and blinked his eyes open. His gaze panned the area to assess Teyla, Ronon, Rodney, and back to Ronon. "You okay?"

The big man nodded and returned to his whetstone.

"How are you feeling, John?" Teyla inquired.

"Tired," Sheppard rasped, then cleared his throat. "Thirsty."

Teyla poured water into a cup and held the straw, admonishing the colonel to sip slowly. "Doctor Beckett expects a full recovery but you must be careful until you are completely healed."

Sheppard released the straw and asked, "What're you doin'?"

The colonel was looking at him, so Rodney stopped typing. "I'm backtracking Donnelly's work, which Donnelly didn't take the time to do. The planet's geology and the properties of its solar system make it nearly impossible to fit the criteria Donnelly indicated. Which means the translation is wrong. Donnelly has been here what, five weeks, and manages to find a planet perfectly matching the description? Elizabeth has been in the translation game nearly two years." Rodney raised his eyebrows in expectation but didn't wait for a response. "Donnelly probably showed her specific texts to corroborate, but actual meaning is more than the sum of the words. I'm finding keywords, but Elizabeth will have to verify context. It takes time. Research has its own pace."

"Probably trying to impress the boss," Sheppard surmised. Rodney frowned. "Not you," the colonel explained. "Weir."

Rodney frowned harder. "This is not a rookie mistake. The data were corrupted to fit. And if you're talking about a treasure hunt, your 'clues' are possibly purposely vague. And Donnelly is not an astronomer, so celestial markers were defined sloppily.

Sheppard blinked tiredly. "So, with a better translation are you willing to try another 'circus sideshow swami' mission?"

"Oh, please," Rodney huffed. "I'm an astrophysicist. You need an astrologer. You're talking about a myth, like tracking down where the Easter Bunny lives," he scoffed. "I have better things to do than try to locate the equivalent of a fabled rabbit warren," he ended derisively. Silence. They were all looking at him. In expectation. His team. Rodney sighed and relented. "Elizabeth does the translation from the original, you seriously weigh the probabilities I calculate, and Donnelly is re-assigned."

"Got it. _Donovan_ is toast." Sheppard's nod of agreement segued into a yawn. "What is it, anyway, with you and names?" The colonel managed a tolerant smirk before drifting into sleep.

Rodney ducked his head and began typing again. He could remember names. When it was important. *~*

. . .

Author's Note: Although Sheppard's blood type wasn't mentioned in the series, a frame-by-frame examination of Thirty Eight Minutes reveals Sheppard's dogtags, showing AB POS blood group, which means his blood type is fairly rare (3% of the population).

In Letters From Pegasus Sheppard was concerned about overloading a Jumper, but it seems to me the ship should be able to handle at least twelve people - four in the cockpit and four on each of the two benches in the rear compartment, and then, in addition to personnel, a Jumper should be able to carry a payload. Which means in this story the Jumper could easily carry rescue teams and medical personnel, plus any medical equipment.

Reference is made to 'slings and arrows of outrageous fortune', which is from the famous soliloquy in Hamlet (Act III, Scene 1) by William Shakespeare.

For Iuvsbruce, for graciously being 'on call' nearly twenty-four-seven ~ despite time zones. Additionally, for her infectious interest in all-things-SGA.

Feedback is always appreciated.

Thanks for reading.


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